


baby, I'm sorry (I'm not sorry)

by flybluejay, Maarii88



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Ben In Plaid, Ben Solo has domestic fantasies and no we are not taking any questions, Ben in Flannel, Cock Warming, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, HEA, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, No Pregnancy, Oral Sex, Panty ripping, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Smut, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, bridal carry, we stan men whose socks come OFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybluejay/pseuds/flybluejay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maarii88/pseuds/Maarii88
Summary: Detective Ben Solo has settled into a very established routine at the police station.  He’s so settled, in fact, he doesn’t even realize something’s missing from his life.Which is why the new department secretary is such a breath of fresh ass — I mean, air.A smutty one-shot with detective!Ben, secretary!Rey, and some very strong Flip Zimmerman and Clyde Logan vibes.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 76
Kudos: 460





	baby, I'm sorry (I'm not sorry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BriannaRG13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriannaRG13/gifts).



> Written for a dear friend for her birthday. 
> 
> Bri, you are incredibly generous with your time, love, and attention. We’re so grateful to call ourselves your friends, and we’re so grateful this thing called Reylo led us to each other. You deserve the very best, and we love you. 
> 
> Also - we know nothing about police work (beyond Brooklyn 99). Aka, it’s probably not that accurate. Don’t yell at us?
> 
> In unrelated news: have you seen [Adam Driver in a white henley](https://twitter.com/Khatia1996/status/1272300776900231168?s=20)? How about [Adam in flannel](https://twitter.com/kybrkylo/status/1286778250048557059?s=20)? Have you listened to Demi Lovato’s song [Sorry Not Sorry](https://youtu.be/-MsvER1dpjM)?

_March 1988_

_Springfield, Illinois_

“Well, what have we got here?” 

“Look at the perky little tits on that one.” 

“Is she Beryl’s replacement?” 

Detective Ben Solo angles his head down, chair squeaking as it shifts. His eyes are still fixed on the arrest paperwork half completed in front of him, but his attention has strayed to the conversation taking place at the desk behind him. 

“Gotta be,” Dickerson mutters into his coffee cup, taking an indelicate slurp. “No one that pretty wants to be a beat cop these days.” 

Bedford snorts. Ben grimaces at the wet sound.“Delicate little thing like that, she’d get chased down the street instead of bein’ the one doin’ the chasin’.” Both men burst into uproarious laughter. Shifting backwards, Ben rams one foot into the bottom of Dickerson’s ugly steel desk and clears his throat. 

“The fuck, Solo,” Dickerson glowers in his direction, slinging coffee from newly damp fingers. Ben looks back at him with an even stare. He rarely bothers to speak to these assholes anyway. 

With a scowl, the other two detectives of Springfield’s finest shuffle towards the half-enclosed breakroom to continue ogling. The new blood they spoke of shifts uncomfortably in a poorly upholstered, metal framed chair beside the precinct’s welcome desk. Ben doesn’t care, or doesn’t want to care, about their crass comments, but curiosity is a bitch of an emotion. After a final signature, he glances up in what is meant to be just a cursory look at the object of his co-workers’ attention. Unfortunately for him, his brain makes the impulse decision to vacate his skull the moment his eyes land on her loose red skirt. 

Thin fingers straighten non-existent wrinkles from creased pleats before gripping the fabric in a burst of nerves. The red material bunches over sun-kissed knees, sprinkled with freckles and stretching down, down, down to shapely calves and a pair of strappy white sandals. He swallows, gaze traveling up to find one dark red lip caught between two perfectly white teeth. More freckles were splattered across a small nose and high cheekbones. Her large green eyes are fixed somewhere behind him. 

She starts when Beryl moves from behind the desk, smiling warmly as she tells the young girl that Captain Lowe will see her now. Ben turns back to his work, stacks of closed cases on one side and new investigations on the other, but he doesn’t see the words on the page. 

One cup of coffee later, Dickerson and Bedford’s speculations are proven correct. Captain Lowe shuffles into the main precinct and clears his throat to introduce their newest secretary, Miss Rey Johnson, who will be taking Beryl’s place upon the older woman’s retirement next week. 

Ben sinks into his chair, just a little lower, at the pretty way her cheeks flame in pink. He certainly doesn’t notice when the color sinks past her pearl necklace and stretches down into the tempting neckline of her modest dress. Or how she clutches a few papers to her breasts before giving a little wave and smile and slipping behind Beryl's desk. 

It’s two days later that Ben decides those skirts of hers may be the death of him. 

He’s certain she doesn’t _mean_ to flounce around the precinct, past his desk, coffee in hand, taking that perky little ass right by his line of sight … but she does. Every damn morning. It takes everything he has not to stare at the way her skirts outline each ass cheek, just enough to see the top of each curve. And it isn’t her fault that the printer is on the far wall, right beyond his desk. Nor is it her fault that she has to walk directly in front of him, her lithe hips and tiny waist (that he’s almost _certain_ he could wrap both hands around) on full display beneath those retro, high-waisted, A line swooshes of fabric. It isn’t her fault that she causes him, without fail, to lose track of whatever happened to be on his mind at the time.

So it is with full appreciation for Rey as an attractive woman that, one week into her employment, Ben makes a decision. He is a man who does not need a woman in his life. He is _not_ undeniably attracted to Miss Rey Johnson. He does not struggle to keep their conversations to a minimum. That afternoon, when she smiles shyly at him and sets a fresh cup of coffee on his desk, it isn’t her warm eyes that cause him to choke on air as he attempts a bewildered “Thanks.” 

And it isn’t that pert ass sticking into the air as she struggles with a paper jam, tendrils of brown hair falling out of her bun and into her eyes, that gives him an instant hard on as he half-walks, half-limps over to save her from the departmental budget’s thriftiness. 

It shouldn’t surprise him when another week passes and he starts to find a fresh mug of coffee on his desk whenever he feels tired. He knows she’s just being friendly by the way she doesn’t meet his eyes when he sips the brew, a soft, slow smile curling the side of those pretty red lips. 

It’s on one especially cold, rainy day that the walls give a sign they’re starting to close in around him. He should know she doesn’t know how to dress for the weather — doesn’t know how to dress for the workplace either, all those heels and skirts and whatnot she chooses to wear — but he hadn’t thought her common sense was _quite_ so lacking. He arrives a little early that day and is crossing the main hall toward the bathroom when the door slams open. 

She’s soaked from head to toe, coat held over her head in a fruitless attempt to shield herself from the sheets of pelting rain he sees out the window. She huffs to herself, smoothing her skirt down and wringing the edge of it so rogue drops of water start to stream down her bare legs. She wears no pantyhose — _of course she doesn’t_ — and the fabric of her dress clings to her torso. The whole effect just leaves so, so very little to the imagination. He doesn’t realize he is holding his breath till she finally notices him standing there, watching her.

“Um ... so sorry,” she says, the rounded vowels of her beautiful accent curling around his brain. “I’m just so, so _wet.”_ Those perfect white teeth bite that perfect bottom lip again: the picture of innocence.

“I can see that.” Between his racing heart and the fact that what she’s just said made him forget his own name, he feels grateful he’s able to feign such an … _indifferent_ tone. 

A pink blush spreads over her cheeks again. _Damn._ Lip still in her teeth, she covers herself with her dripping coat and brushes past him to the front desk. 

Ben has to remind himself he’d been going to the bathroom before he can remember which leg muscle to move first. 

Back at his desk, he pulls out one of the old flannels he keeps in a drawer and leaves it quietly on her desk, along with some paper towels, when she steps away. He’ll never tell her, but he isn’t just giving her the shirt to warm her up. It’s also his unspoken apology for the amount of time he’d had to spend in the bathroom afterward, letting his breathing and _other_ parts of him come down.

Another day, a Thursday, he’s nose deep in paperwork when he hears something roll under his desk. He pulls the pen out of his mouth and swivels around and down to grab whatever it is — and is immediately met with startled green eyes over a straight freckled nose. 

It’s Rey.

Breathless.

On her knees. 

Between his open legs.

He can’t swivel back to face his desk fast enough.

“What. Are you. Doing,” he grinds out. The words come out harsher than he’d meant them to be. He grabs the pen that was previously in his mouth and stares daggers into the case file on his desk. She pants quietly below him, sounding very much like she’d dropped everything to grab what had fallen. 

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” she says, and her voice sounds so earnest, he winces. He can still hear her breathing hard as she continues. “My — my pen, it rolled under here and I’d hoped to nab it before you —”

“Did you find it?” He feels rude interrupting her, but he doesn’t need her making _those_ noises in _that_ position a second longer. 

“Mhm. Just got my hands around it right now.” The breathiness in her voice makes him stiffen in response, as though his own bulk is a shield against temptation rather than the source of it. 

“Good. Let me know if you need another one.” He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t even move until he hears her heeled footsteps clicking away.

And, most importantly, he does _not_ file away the mental image of her panting below him, face turned up as she kneels at his feet, mouth at the level of his — Well, he definitely does _not_ try to think of her like that again. 

If he’s somehow able to pull up the image again in his mind at a moment's notice, well, he blames his subconscious, for always subverting his best intentions. 

But he _really_ should’ve seen the writing on the wall that fateful Tuesday when he heads to the kitchen to wash out his mug .... the mug she’s been refilling for him with a quiet smile almost every other day now. He’s only just turned the water on when he hears Rose come in, chatting with someone else. The sink is tucked away behind the refrigerator and he thinks he can _just_ slide out the door, since he doesn’t know Rose really well anyway, when he hears the throaty moan that rings out in response to what Rose has said. By now, he thinks grimly to himself, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Well, that’s just the thing,” he hears Rey say. “I know it’s cold out, but something in my flat’s broken, and I can’t seem to figure out what it is! It’s boiling _hot_ in my kitchen.”

Rose says something he can’t make out. He’s been rubbing at the same spot on his mug for the past two minutes. Rey replies in a murmur so quiet, he finds himself turning the water down to hear: “—tempted to cook dinner with _only_ my apron on, if you know what I mean.”

Rose’s laugh is immediate and _loud,_ which is good for him, because it covers up the sound of his mug slipping out of his hand and clanging to the bottom of the kitchen sink. 

This conversation he’s overheard certainly has nothing to do with the fact that this is the first night he goes home and fantasizes about Rey being in his kitchen. 

The image drifts into his head slowly and innocently enough. She’s putting dishes away in his apartment, smiling over her shoulder at him. He sits at the kitchen table, watching her and listening to her chatter about nothing in particular in that rich, low voice of hers. God, how he’d _love_ to hear her talk to him, only to him, and not some random asshole calling on the office phone that she answers so dutifully on the first ring.

He sees the bridge of her beautiful nose as she leans down and glances at him, a flash of desire in her gaze. He’s hungry even though they just ate, eating her up with his eyes as her long skirt swishes around her long legs. 

In his imagination, she’s still in her heels, but there’s one cupboard that’s particularly high up and she can’t _quite_ reach what she has to put away there. So he stands up to help her, his arms caging around her as he guides her arm up and lifts the dish out of her hand. She’s gasping in surprise, and maybe something else, and he feels the curve of her hip as he rubs his hard length against her. He sets the dish down before reaching for the hem of that pretty, pretty skirt …

He comes to with a low groan.

Apparently he’s horny as hell. 

He’d tried to be polite. He’d tried to be appropriate. He’d given her some of his extra pens so she wouldn’t have any reason to go crawling after a lost one under his desk. He hadn’t even asked for his old shirt back — figured she’d probably shoved it in one of her desk drawers.

Despite the weeks of practiced denial, of reciting to himself all the reasons why he has no need to start anything with anyone anytime soon, lately he just can’t seem to help himself. 

Yet another quiet weekend spent alone finds him mentally calculating how many days have passed since he’s last had someone to fuck. It can’t have been that long, can it? He’s never needed a woman to get him through his days and nights before. 

No, he tells himself, lying in bed that night, one hand on his aching cock, fantasizing about those dark red lips swelling around him, pearls clicking against her collarbone. It isn’t that he needs a woman. But maybe he needs _that_ woman.

It’s a Friday night, four weeks since she started. Four weeks of cold, cold showers and a decidedly empty apartment. The walls feel like they’re going to swallow him whole as he sits at the small desk that, at the moment, feels even smaller. She’s ten feet across the room, graceful hands moving methodically from stack to stack, working on some urgent project the Captain handed her last minute. Her dark blue, polka dot dress is straight out of his fantasies, a vision he can’t erase of bending her over his sink before flipping that flowing fabric over her ass and fucking her senseless.

The halogen lights flicker once, jolting him from his forbidden reverie. Guilt floods him, along with another type of burning in his gut that doesn’t help his attempts to avoid any indecent thoughts. He shifts uncomfortably. His eyes fall on the still-tall stack of paperwork from the monumental drug bust they’d made just that morning, and he can’t stop the small huff of frustration. He shouldn’t be here so late, so distracted, so alone … with _just her_.

Sweat begins to gather on his neck. He rakes a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to cool himself. As he loosens a button on his flannel, he thinks dejectedly to himself, _It’s going to be a_ very _long night._

* * *

For the tenth time tonight, Rey tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glances out of the corner of her eye at the man sitting ten feet away. His massive body is bunched behind the too-small desk, legs spilling out from underneath it. His forearms flex beneath red check flannel as he scribbles through his paperwork in the neat cursive she loves so much. 

She wishes he was wearing the collarless white shirt with the tiny buttons that she favors on him nine times out of ten. One red nail makes its way between her lips as she bites down, remembering ... 

_Her decisions, sometimes, were awful. She had seen the dark skies at the bus stop and known immediately that she would sorely regret her choice to forgo an umbrella that morning. When the first few drops hit her forehead, dripping mascara down her cheek, she moaned and pulled her coat from her shoulders, speeding up her walk. It was all in vain. By the time she’d reached the station the rain was bucketing down and the bottom half of her green skirt was soaked through._

_“Bollocks,” she hissed, nearly slipping on the tile floor when she sprinted through the doors. She shivered. The water was going to puddle in her heels. At least it couldn’t soak into the tights she never wore. Rey let her bag slump to the floor as her coat fell back over her shoulders. She grasped the hem and began to gently squeeze, shuddering as the cold water trickled down her thighs._

_A soft inhale behind her drew her attention. She glanced up. It was Ben. Ben Solo, the detective whose soft dark waves and intimidating build had entranced her from day one. She couldn’t help but notice how his dark jeans fit snugly against his large thighs. It’s a sharp contrast to his shirt, the white, collarless, long sleeve shirt that stretched for miles down his long frame and fit tightly across his broad shoulders._ _His thick lips are pressed into a thin line, but his eyes are wide and fixed — on her._

 _“Um … so sorry,” she muttered, the heat rising in her cheeks combating the cool of the air conditioning. “I’m just so, so_ wet _.”_

 _It hits her the moment the words leave her mouth. Oh._ Oh. _Her teeth immediately find her lip, worrying it relentlessly. If he doesn’t already think she’s a clumsy oaf and a right dosser, he could most certainly add “wanton whore” to the list of words one would use to describe her current behavior._

_“I can see that,” he deadpanned. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, and her stomach lurched sadly. Embarrassment broiled up and over, most certainly staining her cheeks an awful red, and she wrapped her arms through her coat, shrinking herself as small as possible before slipping by him and behind her desk._

_By the time she had turned around, he was gone._

And after she had gone to get her morning coffee, she had come back to find a small pile of paper towels and a blue flannel shirt sitting folded on her desk. 

It had smelled like pine and coffee and _male._ She had sworn she was going to return it; she would just take it home to wash it first. It was only polite. And if the shirt hadn’t made it into the washing, simply because her sleep was so much better with the fabric wrapped around her body, well … she could hardly be blamed. 

One deep breath later, Rey shakes herself out of the memory and returns to sorting through the stacks of papers before her, the last minute task of binding brand new procedural manuals for the entire precinct before Monday a daunting and irritating inconvenience. Or so she had thought. 

That was before she realized she had been left here alone — with Ben.

The only inconvenience now is that she can’t seem to concentrate on anything beyond the soft scratch of his pen on paper in the still office. For the past month, he has invaded her thoughts, appearing in both her most embarrassing moments and most wonderful fantasies. In those fantasies, the wicked white shirt features most often, fighting valiantly but unsuccessfully to restrain the general size of his biceps as he writes and moves and pushes the fabric up two sturdy forearms. 

She cannot count the number of times she has embarrassed herself at his feet — once quite literally, when she had dropped a stack of papers to retrieve an errant pen only to find herself perched between his thighs, face directly in the line of sight of — 

Well. Surely she’d imagined things then. 

His behavior had always been polite, but only just that. He was never rude, never pushy, nothing like the other detectives who quite often commented on her dress, always behind her back. _Were her brassieres of the push-up variety? Was she or was she not wearing knickers that day?_

But she never heard comments like that coming from Ben. He was an exemplary gentleman, so much so that sometimes Rey found herself wishing she knew what would happen if he let himself go, even just a little. She was certain his long frame would fill the entirety of that hideous striped sofa in the break room, and she could just imagine stretching out on top of him, her legs draped over his hips, the rough jeans — 

“Miss Rey?” 

Rey blinks. He is standing an appropriate distance away, a slip of paper held out in one hand. Rey’s stomach churns. She wonders absently how potent the smell of arousal is through layers of one's knickers and skirts. But she smiles for him anyway, fingers twisting nervously at the pearls around her neck. 

“What can I help you with, detective?” 

He lifts one hand to rub the back of his neck, his gaze drifting out the window at the total darkness outside. Rey notes the weariness in his face. 

“Beryl used to keep spare copies of EV1879 for me in her personal cabinet. I was wondering if you could check if there are still copies in there before I have to go over to Evidence to get some.”

“Oh, of course! I can look for you. Just let me finish this last manual and I’d be happy to.” 

Ben lays the paper in front of her, the numbers for the form jotted down in neat script. “Thanks, Rey. You’d be doing me a huge favor.” 

It doesn’t take long for Rey to find the requested form, buried in the back of Beryl’s personal filing cabinet drawer. She nabs three copies and, eyeing the clock on the wall, which is currently showing 11:17 p.m., decides to lock the front doors. _For safety._

It doesn’t take long to walk to the break room, refilling not only her own coffee mug, but also one for Ben, who seems to be a little worse for wear. _Three sugars and no cream._ She smiles, thinking of what it had taken to wriggle his coffee preferences out of Beryl. 

As she walks back to his desk, one of her heels catches at the threshold of the door, but it is only for a moment and Rey pays it no mind. Detective Solo is slumped over his desk, one hand shoved indelicately through his hair, when she sets the fresh coffee on the edge of his desk, careful not to place it too close to his completed paperwork. 

“I found the file in — ” Rey starts, turning quickly to hold out the papers in her hand, when the same faulty heel catches on a power cable running precariously close to his desk. Her balance is gone and she stumbles a little, hips canting backwards — directly into him. His hands wrap around her waist as he half catches, half pulls her into his lap. Her back presses against his chest, head landing on his shoulder as she squeezes her eyes shut. She can nearly breathe again, nearly gather herself and push away, when warm, soft pressure flutters over the skin behind her ear. 

Rey stills, breath gone again, heart pounding against her chest like hummingbird wings. Is it … did he … 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs the words against her neck, her hair falling to pieces beneath one of his large hands. She shifts, flexing her fingers when she realizes that one of her hands is tucked beneath the strap of his leather holster, clutching it tightly. She can barely nod, tiny, dwarfed by her desire and his frame, and swallows thickly. 

“I —” 

“Rey.” He breathes her name. This time, there is no denying it, no pretending it doesn’t happen. His lips meet her skin, feeling the way her neck curves into her collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh there. 

It’s as though time catches up all at once. 

Rey squeaks in surprise and moves to leap away, but the hand caught in his holster doesn’t move as quickly as the rest of her. Her other hand is reckless, flying to the fresh coffee mug she had just set down and flinging the hot liquid over both of them. 

“Shit!” She stands quickly, yanking apart buttons to the waist, leaving the dress open to pull the burning fabric away from her chest. “Ben, I am so, so sorry, I —” She stutters, leaning over to Ben, who is sitting perfectly still, and beginning to unbutton the remainder of his shirt as well. She only wants to pull the hot liquid away from his skin, when it suddenly dawns on her what this looks like.

Her hands still, three buttons left, when she looks down and realizes he has a perfect view of her cleavage. In her very lacy, very see-through brassiere. She straightens, taking one step back, but, in a moment of bravery, doesn’t try to cover his view. 

“Rey,” he growls. His voice holds an edge of warning. The sound sends an electric shock straight to her insides. She tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but it feels as though the air in the room has gained a weightiness it didn’t have before. “If you want to cover yourself, walk to the bathroom. _Now.”_

Rey straightens, tilting her chin and clenching her fists. His eyes darken. 

“Did you kiss me? Just now.” 

“Rey ...” 

“Did you mean it?” 

He works his lower jaw before he answers. Rey feels the coil in her abdomen wind just that much tighter, just like the hundred other times she’s watched him work his jaw the same way. 

“Yes,” he grinds out. “I’m sor —” 

Before he can finish, Rey has closed the distance between them and sinks both of her hands into his hair, pressing her closed lips to his. Large hands find her waist again, then release her as she steps back, not quite so far this time. 

“If you meant it, well, then … so do I.” 

It takes a moment for her words to register, but she sees the realization course through him when it does. She pushes her shoulders back, pulling her dress further apart. 

He doesn’t seem to need more encouragement than the sight of her bare neck and collarbones. 

It’s like a switch has flipped, the way his gaze shifts to prowl over her, setting her limbs on fire with a look. He pushes his way from the chair, slowly lifting all of him to tower over her with a predatory gaze. Rey takes a subconscious step back, realizing yet again that this man is twice her size, all muscle. He could easily take whatever he wants.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Well, then.” His eyes find hers, burning through them, giving her one last chance to change her mind before he tells her firmly, “C’mere.” 

It’s magnetic, the way she steps towards him with no hesitation. But he doesn’t let her reach her goal. Before she can get to him, he steps towards her and grabs both of her wrists in one hand, the other reaching for what is left of her dress. In three smooth motions, he sweeps her arms above her head, presses her back into the wall, and unbuckles the belt at her waist, yanking roughly at the remaining buttons till the fabric gapes open, the front half of her body fully exposed.

Plastic buttons clink and roll across the linoleum as they free themselves from the stitching on her dress. Rey sucks in a breath, cold air hitting the flush of suddenly exposed skin. One heavily booted foot finds her feet, roughly shoving her legs apart as his hand engulfs her scantily-clad breast. He kneads it gently, in contrast to the rough way he has her shoved against the cool wood. 

His lips resume their path down her neck, returning to kiss the skin beneath her ear and trailing down, nipping and biting until he reaches her heaving chest. His free hand moves to her other breast before the heat of his mouth warms her nipple and he hums. 

“I always knew these were lace,” he murmurs, pushing aside the fabric of her brassiere before sucking the small pink bud between his lips and rolling it delicately. Rey can’t help the moan that sticks deep in her throat. He chuckles. “Knew you’d be a noisy one, too.” 

Her thighs clench at his words, a small flood of arousal seeping into her knickers, her knees tightening around his. He pulls his mouth away suddenly, and before she can help it, Rey whimpers at the loss of contact. 

“No, baby girl. No closing those legs.” 

Rey swallows a small whine when his foot shoves her legs apart again. The hand not holding her wrists sinks down to slide gently against the inside of her thigh. 

“I’ll have to buy you another pair of these,” he whispers in her ear. His words have mere seconds to register in her mind before he rips down the seam of her panties, fingers dragging across the skin of her hip. He flings the fabric to the side, leaving her completely bare. Rey hisses through her teeth when his fingers find the outside of her slit. 

His mouth finds her other lips, pressing once against them gently before he twists his head to the side and presses her mouth open with his, his teeth sinking into her lower lip and tugging.

His kisses are hot and heavy, her hands sinking with his before coming to rest on her head as he leans into the wall beside her. He’s caging her in, trapping her with his heat, his fingers playing her into oblivion, stroking gently through her folds and spreading the increasing wetness until she is certain she would melt if he weren’t holding her up with his thigh. 

“Ben,” she moans around his lips, her breathing stilted and shaky. The fingers laced around her wrist suddenly find her neck, resting against the skin, barely pressing. He grins against her, cocky. 

“So wet for me already,” she hears him murmur through her haze. One single digit suddenly works its way inside her while his thumb traces circles along the edge of her clit. Rey shudders. “And so damn _tight,_ too. Were you thinking about me at that desk?” 

_Fuck yes,_ she wants to say, but his tongue has found her mouth again, and she can’t help but follow his lead, completely engulfed by him. The next time he releases her mouth, she forces her eyes open in a heavy-lidded stare. 

“You have — _far_ — too many — clothes,” she manages to heave between breathless moans. His fingers have not stopped their ministrations, but he grins anyway before removing them with a wet sound. Her body immediately aches at his absence. 

“Is that right, sweetheart?” His heat disappears as he moves himself further away. “Don’t move,” he threatens, and she doesn’t, instead fixing her stare on him as he kicks off the thick brown boots, drops his holster to the ground, and slowly peels off his long socks. Next comes the damp flannel, flung onto his desk chair, followed swiftly by the white undershirt which — well, Rey honestly doesn’t know _where_ that ends up, because _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph_ , _he is bloody well_ perfect. His chest is broad and smooth, a flat plane that she wants desperately to press her lips to, licking and sucking and tasting every bit of him. 

Sharp hips angle into a lovely vee that leads to the place where his erection presses tightly against the fabric of his jeans, straining for freedom. His hands slide the zipper down as he slowly releases his cock without once releasing his gaze on her.

Saliva instinctually floods her mouth as she realizes he is _taunting_ her. He is _huge,_ and he seems to know it. His eyes glimmer as he kicks the pants in the general direction of the rest of his clothing. 

“Now who has too many clothes?” 

Rey resists the temptation to cross her arms. “That’s not my fault.” 

“Oh, really?” he growls again, and before she can regret her words he is in front of her, dragging the remains of her dress down her shoulders and taking her bra with it. He pulls it all down over her hips and to her feet, where he stops, slowing to lift each foot from its shoe before tossing the whole lot to the side. He stands to his full height, towering over her as he presses closer. A finger finds the pearl necklace and lifts it delicately from her collarbone. 

“This … this stays.” She feels as though she might combust from the heat in his eyes.

When his hands sink back onto her, one is at her breasts, tweaking a nipple and the other teases her clit. She finds his hard length beneath his boxers and runs a palm against the straining fabric. 

She starts when he moans into her mouth in reply. _“Fuck,_ Rey.” 

He sounds so ruined that it’s enough to give her a jolt of confidence. She slides her hand beneath the waistband and fixes him with a dulcet stare, blinking innocently. 

“May I?” 

His cock jerks in her hand. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. One look into his eyes shows her he’s dazed, almost at a loss for words. She sinks to her knees, pulling the thin fabric of his boxers down along with her. His full length springs free and her chest tightens at the sight of it — it’s thick and hard and smooth and, just like the rest of him, perfectly large. 

She runs her hand along the length a few times, testing the waters before sticking out her tongue and tracing the underside. He is salty and sweet and musky, the faint whiff of the flannel she sleeps with every night drifting through her senses and sending a rush of comfort to her head. She loves the taste of him, loves the feel of him pulsing beneath her lips and her hands, loves the way he’s muttering “fuck” and “knew you’d be so good” and “pretty girl” above her. 

And when he grabs her hair, sending the last stray bobby pins sailing to the ground as her hair falls free, she loves the way he comes in her mouth. It’s careful, the way he thrusts, and she can’t deny that he’s lost some of his control, but the way he grips her hair, steadying himself in an attempt not to hurt her, leaves her breathless at his self-restraint. When he pulls out, one hand drops to stroke her cheek, lifting her chin to meet his eyes, which glow, desire pooling in them. 

Rey barely has time to squeak out a protest when he slides his hands around her waist and throws her over his shoulder. 

“My turn.” 

When he dumps her on the sorely outdated couch in the break room thirty seconds later, the rough fabric scratches at her bare shoulders, but his fingers digging into her hips provide a much more distracting pain. He is above her, on top of her, body stretched across her. Smooth, sweaty skin presses into her abdomen while he balances on his elbows, kissing her senseless with long, languid strokes of his hot tongue. He tastes like coffee and another flavor she can’t place, distinctly _him_. 

She groans when he pulls away. 

“Rey.” Her name is a rumble in his chest. “You’re gonna come for me now, you understand?” 

She can barely nod, feeling his grin more than seeing it. 

“Good girl.”

With those words, his body slides against hers, hands pushing against her shins until her knees fall apart and his mouth finds her core. She shudders in anticipation. He starts slowly, tongue pushing against her folds before sliding upwards to circle around the bundle of nerves throbbing at the top of her cunt. Rey pushes her hands beneath her head, struggling not to grab his hair and direct him straight to the point of need. He is slow but deliberate, building her to a peak of pleasure that she’s not sure she’s ever felt before. 

A low moan erupts when he finally presses the flat of his tongue against her clit, at the same time thrusting what _has_ to be two thick digits inside of her, fingers curved. His other hand suddenly finds one breast, rolling and pinching her nipple until she whimpers for relief and he moves to the other, repeating the same motion. 

The tension builds beneath his clearly experienced hands until all Rey can see is black, all she can feel is him and her and _them_ , the warm tightness and thick pleasure surging in waves, her cunt tightening around his fingers, when finally, finally — 

She crests, her heart thudding in her chest and nearly sobbing as every muscle in her body tightens and releases in satisfied delight. He continues to massage her gently as she comes down. She can feel the wetness spread along her thighs, see it gleaming in his eyes and on his mouth as he smirks at her, eyes dark as sin. 

She _wants_ him. 

She knows this in her core: she isn’t just chasing pleasure, isn’t just after the high. She wants _him_ , all of him, to fill her, to know his mind, his protective, caring hands and thoughtful gaze.

Her hands lock around his neck as she presses her lips to his again, reveling in their combined taste on their lips. The hair skirting along her fingers is soft and she rolls it between her thumb and index finger, pulling gently as she forces him closer. 

“Fuck me, Ben. _Please_ fuck me.”

He inhales sharply and looks at her like she’s shot him with a bullet from his own gun. She knows she has him when she feels his cock hit against her thigh, fully hard again. His eyes search hers, asking an unspoken question. She nods her consent. 

He quickly lays her down with one hand pressed to her back, before finding her entrance with his tip and pressing against her. Rey is no virgin, and she knows she can take him — she’s sure of it — but Ben seems wary, so she figures showing him is best. Biting her lip, Rey cants her hips forward, sliding him home. 

Satisfied. 

It’s the only word that makes sense as he fills her to the brim, pressing her into the cushions and hitting a place inside her that she _knows_ has never been touched before. He is slow to move at first, kissing along her jaw and seeming to revel in the moment. But when he finally begins to thrust, the tension is just _right_ , holding her in a place of intense satisfaction. 

After a few minutes, both of his hands slide behind her back and, faster than she can think, he pulls out and lifts her with him, seating her on his lap and back onto his dick, broad hands wrapped firmly around her slim waist. When she dares to look up at him, it feels as though he is looking into her very soul, his eyes suddenly doe-like as they beg her to please, _please_ love what he’s doing to her.

Her heart wells up at the sight, and without thinking, she smiles broadly at him. It seems to set something within him at ease, because this time, their coming together is slow. They feel no need to rush as she begins to ride him, fingers in his hair, his mouth at her breasts. When one hand finds her clit again, fingers circling in tight, even strokes, she shudders, head falling to his shoulder, abdomen clenching. His groans are growing louder against her rising and falling hips, and she knows they are both close. 

She falls first, teeth digging into the nape of his neck as her own hands find her breasts and pull, letting him work the rest of her into a sharp arc of pleasure that courses past the thrusting in her cunt. He follows soon behind and she can feel his erratic pace, the way he grows and pulses and stretches into her, hands leaving her clit and sliding into her hair and pulling with each burst of pleasure, until they are both spent. 

He slips out of her and rubs the back of her head, kneading her scalp in tired bliss while she purrs and pulls her knees up around them, content as a milk-sated kitten. 

_Keep me_ , she thinks, she wants to whisper, as she leans against his chest and breathes in time with his slowing heartbeat. _Please keep me here._

* * *

Clearly, Ben is exhausted. 

So when Rey falls into him, her ass in his lap and his hands around her waist — _her tiny, tiny waist_ — he chalks it up to having fallen asleep at his desk. So he doesn’t feel as guilty as he normally does about pressing his lips behind her ear — it’s a dream, so she’s not _really_ in his lap anyway, right? If he whispers her name into the curve of her neck, she won’t really hear him, will she? If the past four weeks have proven anything to him, it’s that he can’t think about anything else when he’s around her, so why not finally indulge himself in a dream? 

It’s only when he feels hot liquid starting to burn his pecs as his shirt is being unbuttoned that he realizes he is very much awake.

Awake, and looking straight at Rey in a lacy sheer _nothing,_ polka dot dress spread all the way open down to the belt on her waist.

 _She unbuttoned just for you,_ his hindbrain supplies cheerfully.

Now knowing he is awake, he thinks it’s Rey who might not be. Even though her stare is calm and solemn, her creamy skin is still bared and she’s not making a move to cover herself, so he does what he’d consider the right thing (though not the most _pleasurable_ thing) and offers her a way out — a way to escape him before he can’t control himself any longer.

“Rey, if you want to cover yourself, walk to the bathroom. Now.” 

If she doesn’t turn around and walk away in the next second, he knows _exactly_ what he’s going to do to her.

So when she brushes off his apology and steps _toward_ him instead, all cylinders fire and the bottom drops out. When she kisses him, his mind clicks back into that dominant space it always goes to when he’s with a girl — except he’s never been with a girl like Rey. A girl with fire in her eyes like Rey’s, with a mouth waiting to be kissed like Rey’s, with a voice as sweet as this sweet girl’s voice.

With a heart as kind and compassionate as Rey’s, kind enough to bring him coffee when he’s most tired.

It may only be when he slowly opens his eyes to the soft, sleeping woman in his arms that he truly, finally realizes none of it was a dream.

He takes a second to stare at the ceiling, working his jaw so he doesn’t grin like an absolute fool if she happens to wake up. He feels so .... so _satisfied_ he can barely stand it.

He decides to take advantage of their current position to finally admire her. She’s completely naked on his lap except for the pearl necklace. There’s a tiny line of drool trailing from her mouth onto his bare chest. His arms fit perfectly around her, cradling her breasts as his thumbs brush her nipples. He loves the weight of her ass against his crotch, how the warmth of her seeps into the most intimate part of his body like she was meant to fill him, and he was meant to fill her. 

He glances over at the clock. It’s only 1:30 in the morning —

_1:30 in the morning!_

He straightens up too fast, jostling her awake. 

“Darling,” she starts sleepily, her eyes still closed. 

“Darling,” he parrots back slowly with surprise. The word feels foreign on his tongue, but fuck if he doesn't love it coming out of her mouth. He starts to nibble blindly at her shoulder, as he realizes he wants to hear that word come out of her mouth only for him till the end of time. He’s going to take her straight home and lock her in his bedroom and have her call him “darling” while he bounces her on his cock a hundred more times, just as soon as he finishes his …

“Paperwork,” he says out loud against her neck. “Shit.”

“Mm?” she murmurs. His dick twitches like a puppy at how sleepy she sounds.

“Go back to sleep, baby girl. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where’re you going?” She suddenly sounds a little more awake, and not very happy about him leaving her. He doesn’t look at her as he starts trying to figure out where he tossed his boxers. _Did she blow me in here, or was it by my desk?_ He can’t help the feeling of pride welling up as he thinks about how she looked below him, her pretty lips curled around his —

“I _said,_ where are you going?” She looks fully awake now, those same pretty lips now curled in indignation as she rests her hands on his chest.

“The case paperwork,” he sighs, finally meeting her eyes. “I have to finish it.” He knows he must look helpless, one hand in his hair and a crazed look in his eyes as he realizes he won’t get to fuck her into his bed anytime soon if he doesn’t finish the damn paperwork.

She suddenly gets a very sweet, sly grin on her face as she says, “I could _certainly_ make that more enjoyable for you, if you like.”

She looks extremely smug, and Ben is extremely confused. She doesn’t know the first thing about case files, how could she … “What do you mean?” 

“Carry me back to your desk and I’ll show you.” Her smile is so wide and gorgeous his body seems to move of its own volition as he lunges forward and scoops her into his arms. He carries her bridal style back to his desk. He can’t help but let loose a low rumble of appreciation at the sight of their clothes strewn haphazardly around the room. He can feel himself getting hard when he sees her panties in the corner, ripped cleanly in half. _That_ sight, in particular, pleases him greatly. 

He sets her down on the desk facing him as he takes his chair. He’s as naked as the day he was born, and so is she. He takes a second to admire his view as she preens beneath his gaze, before starting to ask, “What did you mean about helping m—?”

His voice chokes out as she sinks onto his lap, her slit inches away from his dick. She raises her gaze to his, a very meaningful look in her eye as she rolls her hips forward. His eyes narrow as he realizes what she wants to do. 

“You need somewhere to sit, sweetheart?” 

“Why, _yes,_ detective,” she sighs. He groans when she rolls her hips again, biting her lip with a cruel glint in her eye. “Just while you finish your paperwork.” 

“Oh, _hell_ yes,” he snarls, and drags her forward by the waist. “You wet enough, baby?” he asks as he dips a tentative finger into her pussy. His dick is _hard_ and thrusting between them. He’s ready enough for her. 

“Still wet, Ben,” she exhales as his finger enters her. When he draws it out, a mixture of both of their spend slides down his palm. 

“Fuck. You are.” He positions her over his dick, ready to drop her down as he asks, “You gonna sit on me, sweet girl? Sit on my cock while I work?” 

“Yes, Ben.” She flashes that beautiful smile and he’s gone, slamming her down on his fully erect length. He lifts and drops her a few more times before he feels one of her fingers on the tip of his nose, her moans suddenly gone as she stares at him with those hypnotic green eyes. 

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to come till you’ve finished your paperwork.”

He goes to nip at her finger, but she moves it away as she adds, “And I’m not moving till you get to a good stopping point.” 

“So bossy. Damn.” He glares at her, his hand feeling around behind her for a pen. On an impulse, he grabs her ass playfully and laughs when she squeals. He can feel her pussy walls around him, the muscles taut and stretched, but not clenching or fluttering. 

His stomach drops as he suddenly remembers something. “Rey … Rey, I came inside you, and I, I didn’t have a condom …” He’s about to swipe a shaky right hand through his hair when she grabs it and kisses the back of it instead.

“Ben, it’s okay. I’m on the pill. I … I should have told you sooner, but I was …” She bites her lip, causing his heart to do a now-familiar flip. “I was enjoying myself too much.” 

He exhales in relief and nods at her wordlessly as she redirects his hand to his pen, uncaps it for him, and places it between his fingers. She arranges herself tightly around him as he scoots his chair forward, her neck curving onto his left shoulder. He starts to fill out the top of the page, not looking at her as he says, “I’m taking you home and cleaning you up after this.” 

“Darling, I said you’d only get to move me if you finish your paperwork.” Her voice sounds muffled and content behind his ear. 

_“Someone’s_ gonna finish,” he mutters back. 

She gasps. “And here I was, thinking you were a gentleman!” He leans forward slightly to read the form, but he can almost feel her smile next to him — he’s sure it’s as big as his own. 

Ben knows he writes something on the page, but he can’t be sure if anything he’s written down is spelled correctly or even legible. What he _does_ know is every inch of the inside of Rey’s pussy as blood pulses through his impossibly hard dick. He bottoms out inside her over and over again as Rey rocks leisurely against him, running her nails up and down his bare back. 

He doesn’t realize how loudly he’s grinding his teeth in forced concentration till Rey starts to rub his back instead, shushing him. “You’ll chip a tooth that way, love.” 

“You’re just so fuckin’ tight,” he pants. “I just need to —” A strand of hair falls in his face as he pushes up on the armrests, thrusting into her in desperation. They both gasp in relief when he hits a spot deep inside her. 

_“Ben.”_ Her voice is stern as she pushes down on his shoulders. As she reaches, her breasts come into his line of sight and he moves to try to suck one, but she pulls one arm tightly across her nipples. “Naughty boy. Now you’ve put off your reward even more.” 

He glares at her and turns his gaze back to the form. He barely reads the words on the page, can barely read his own usually-impeccable handwriting as he scribbles down the lines, writing whatever comes to mind first as the minutes tick by.

Rey marks the seconds for him, her body moving rhythmically up and down.

“Take your time,” she tosses over her shoulder. She’s started to rub her breasts against his bare chest as she rocks, and he feels like he’s going cross-eyed with lust.

 _“Fuck.”_

Ten excruciating minutes later, the fastest he’s ever filled out paperwork for a case in his life, he tosses his pen somewhere across the room and looks at her triumphantly. “Done,” he says smugly, grinning at her surprised expression. She cranes her head around to look back at the paperwork, presumably to check his work, but whips her head back around as he grabs her waist, _hard._ Her eyes open in shock when he pushes her down onto him, hitting the same spot as earlier. 

“But I’m not,” — thrust — “done,” — thrust — “with _you.”_

She gasps as he fills her over and over again. He thinks she might be saying his name between moans, but he can’t quite hear her over his own grunting and the slap of their bodies coming together, her thighs against his. 

He doesn’t know what makes him decide to do it, whether it’s the fact that her eyes are half-closed with pleasure or whether it’s the fact that he can still smell her perfume as he licks up her neck, but in between thrusts he decides to unwrap a little bit of his heart for her to see.

“What were you ... trying to do to me ... with all those _skirts ..._ huh, baby girl?” 

Her tongue curls around the shell of his ear and he huffs at the sudden contact. He blames his surprise for the reason he decides to say:

"If I didn't know any better ... I'd say you’re letting me fuck you ... like you want me to put a ring ... on your finger."

He _really_ isn’t sure what prompts him to say what he says next.

“Wanna take you home ... wanna fuck you in my kitchen … in my bed ... wanna keep you there … so you never have to wear those skirts .... for anyone else ... _ever_ — _again_ —”

 _It’s unbelievable,_ he thinks as he stares at the calendar on the opposite wall he always stares at when he’s at his desk. It’s unbelievable the way she looks jerking up and down in front of him, her hands tangled in his hair as her pearl necklace bounces off her collarbone. It’s unbelievable the way her eyes are full of nothing but adoration and elation as he brings her higher and higher. 

It’s unbelievable the way this girl has invaded his mind and heart so completely that all he can do is throw himself at her mercy and beg her to let him touch her, hold her, fuck her. 

“Rey, Rey, _Rey,”_ he chants as he finally jerks hard and spills himself inside her, thrusting twice more before he collapses forward. One hand on her back pulls her close against him as the other grabs blindly for the edge of the desk, trying to steady himself. 

After a second, he tilts his head to the ceiling to shake the sweaty hair out of his face. “Rey,” he tells the ceiling, not ready to look at her yet. 

“Ben.” Her voice sounds like it’s far away. _“Ben._ Look at me.” 

He finally looks down at her, knowing he must look very much like a dead animal: glassy eyes, ruined hair, jaw slack. She looks considerably better, her cheeks rosy with the exertion and her eyes bright, hair waving down to her shoulders. 

She gently traces a finger along his lips, then up the bridge of his nose to his eyebrows, the pressure feather-light. He closes his eyes as she speaks. 

“Don’t you think, before you take me home and lock me there forever … don’t you think we should go on a date first?” 

He moans loudly as she laughs above him, till his shoulders start shaking and he can’t help laughing with her. The sound fills the room, reverberating off the empty desks and closed windows, the same way Ben feels Rey’s laughter vibrating against him and filling up his heart. 


End file.
